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How hall we make this mode of writing fink?
A mode, faid I? 'tis a disease I think,
A ftubborn tetter that's not cur'd with ink.
For ftill it fpreads, till each th' infection takes,
And feizes ten, for one that it forfakes.

Our play to-day is fprung from none of these ; Nor fhould you damn it, though it does not please,

Since born without the bounds of your four feas.
For if you grant no favour as 'tis new,
Yet as a stranger, there is fomething due:
From Rome (to try its fate) this play was fent;
Start not at Rome! for there's no popery meant:
Though there the poet may his dwelling choose,
Yet ftill he knows his country claims his muse.
Hither an offering his firft-born he fends,
Whose good, or ill fuccefs, on you depends.
Yet he has hope fome kindnefs may be fhown,
As due to greater merit than his own,
And begs the fire may for the fon atone.
There's his laft refuge, if the play don't take,
Yet spare young Dryden for his father's fake.

PROLOGUE TO A VERY GOOD WIFE,

A COMEDY, BY POWELL.

Spoken by Mr. Haines.

HERE'S a young fellow here-an actor-PowellOne whofe perfon, perhaps, you all may know well;

And he has writ a play-this very play
Which you are all come here to fee, to-day;
And fo, it being an ufual thing to speak
Something or other for the author's fake,
Before the play (in hopes to make it take)
I'm come, being his friend and fellow-player,
To fay what (if you please) you're like to hear.
First know, that favour which I'd fain have
fhown,

I ask not for, in his name, but my own;
For, without vanity, I'm better known.
Mean time then, let me beg you would forbear
Your cat-calls, and the inftruments of war.

For mercy, mercy, at your feet we fall,
Before your roaring gods destroy us all!
I'll fpeak with words fweet as diftilling honey,
With words as if I meant to borrow money;
Fair, gentle firs, most soft alluring beaux,
Think 'tis a lady, that for pity fues.
Bright ladies-but to gain the ladies grace,
I think I need no more than fhow my face.
Next then, you authors, be not you severe;
Why, what a fwarm of fcribblers have we here!
One, two, three, four, five, fix, feven, eight, nine,

Now, you, our city friends, who hither ceme
By three o'clock, to make sure elbow-room :
While fpoufe, tuckt-up, dues in her pattens.
trudge it,
[budget,
With handkerchief of prog, like troll with
And here, by turns, you eat plumb-cake and
judge it;

Pray be you kind, let me your grace importune,
Or elfe―egad, I'll tell you all your fortune.
Well now, I have but one thing more to fay,
And that's in reference to our third day;
An odd request-may be you'll think it so;
Pray come, whether you like the play or no :
And if you'll ftay, we shall be glad to fec you,
If not-leave your half-crowns, and peace be wi’
you!

PROLOGUE TO THE COURT, ON THE QUEEN'S BIRTH DAY, 1704.

THE happy mufe, to this high scene preferr'd,
Hereafter fhall in loftier ftrains be heard;
And, foaring to tranfcend her ufual theme,
Shall fing of virtue and heroic fame.
No longer fhall fhe toil upon the stage,
And fruitless war with vice and folly wage ;
No more in mean difguife the shall appear,
And fhapes fhe would reform be forc'd to wear:
While ignorance and malice join'd to blame,
And break the mirror that reflects their shame.
Henceforth the fhall purfue a nobler task,

Show her bright virgin face, and fcorn the fatyr's maík.

Happy her future days! which are design'd
Alone to paint the beauties of the mind:
By juft originals to draw with care,
And copy from the court a faultless fair:
Such labours with fuccefs her hopes may crown,
And fhame to manners an incorrigible town.

While this defign her eager thought purfues,
Such various virtues all around the views,
She knows not where to fix, or which to choose.
Yet till ambitious of the daring flight,
ONE only awes her with fuperior light.
From that attempt the confcious mufe retires,
Nor to inimitable worth afpires;
But fecretly applauds, and filently admires.
Hence the reflects upon the genial ray
That firft enliven'd this aufpicious day:
On that bright ftar, to whole indulgent power
We owe the bleffings of the prefent hour.
Concurring omeus of propitious fate
Bore, with one facred birth an equal date;
Whence we derive whatever we poffefs,
By foreign conqueft, or domeftic peace.

Then, Britain, then, thy dawn of blifs begun; Then broke the morn that lighted up this fun! Then was it doom'd whose councils thould succeed, And by whofe arm the Christian world be freed; Then the fierce foe was pre-ordain'd to yield, And then the battle won at Blenheim's glorious field,

[dead.

'Twas then that Amaryllis, heavenly fair, Wounded with grief, and wild with her despair, Forfook her myrtle bower, and rofy bed, To tell the winds her woes, and mourn Amyntas Who had a heart so hard, that heard her cries And did not weep? who fuch relentless eyes? Tigers and wolves their wonted rage forego, And dumb diftrcfs, and new compaffion show; As taught by her to taste of human woe. Nature herself attentive filence kept, And motion feem'd fufpended while fhe wept; The rifing fun restrain'd his fiery course, And rapid rivers liften'd at their fource; Ev'n Echo fear'd to catch the flying found, Left repetition should her accents drown; The very morning wind withheld his breeze, Nor fann'd with fragrant wings the noiseless trees; As if the gentle Zephyr kad been dead, And in the grave with loved Amyntas laid. No noife, no whispering figh, no murmuring groan, Prefum'd to mingle with a mother's moan; Her cries alone her anguish could exprefs, All other mourning would have made it lefs.

"Hear me," she cried," ye nymphs and sylvan gods,

"Inhabitants of thefe once-lov'd abodes; "Hear my diftrefs, and lend a pitying ear, "Hear my complaint-you would not hear my prayer;

"The lofs which you prevented not, deplore, "And mourn with me Amyntas now no more. "Have I not caufe, ye cruel powers, to mourn? "Lives there like me another wretch forlorn? "Tell me, thou fun that round the world doth "Thine,

Haft thou beheld another lofs like mine? "Ye winds, who on your wings fad accents bear, "And catch the founds of forrow and defpair, "Tell me if e'er your tender piuions bore "Such weight of woe, fuch deadly fighs, before?

"Tell me, thou earth, on whofe wide fpreading "The wretched load is laid of human race, [bafe "Doft thou not feel thyfelf with me oppreft? "Lie all the dead so heavy on thy breast? "When hoary winter on thy fhrinking head "His icy, cold depreffing hand has laid, "Haft thou not felt lefs chillness in thy veins? "Do I not pierce thee with more freezing pains? "But why to thee do I relate my woe, "Thou cruel earth, my most remorfelefs foe, "Within whofe darkfome womb the grave is made,

"Where all my joys are with Amyntas laid? "What is't to me, though on thy naked head "Eternal winter should his horror fhed, [froft,

Though all thy nerves are numb'd with endless "And all thy hopes of future spring were loft? "To me what comfort can the spring afford? "Can my Amyntas be with fpring reftor'd? "Can all the rains that fall from weeping fkies, "Unlock the tomb where my Amyntas lies? "No, never never -Say then, rigid earth, "What is to me thy everlafting dearth?

tr

want;

Though never flower again its head fhould rear, Though never tree again fhould bloffom bear, Though never grafs fhould clothe the naked "ground, [found. "Nor ever healing plant or wholefome herb be "None, none were found when I bewail'd their [plant, "Nor wholesome herb was found, nor healing "To eafe Amyntas of his cruel pains; "In vain I fearch'd the valleys, hills and plains ; "But wither'd leaves alone appear'd to view, "Or poisonous weeds diftilling deadly dew. "And if fome naked ftalk, not quite decay'd, "To yield a fresh and friendly bud effay'd, "Soon as I reach'd to crop the tender shoot, "A fhrieking mandrake kill'd it at the root. "Witness to this, ye fawns of every wood, "Who at the prodigy astonish'd stood.

« Well I remember what fad figns ye made, "What showers of unavailing tears ye fhed; "How each ran fearful to his moffy cave, "When the last gafp the dear Amyntas gave. "For then the air was fill'd with dreadful cries, "And fudden night o'erspread the darken'd skies; "Phantoms, and fiends, and wandering fires ap

" pear'd,

"And fcreams of ill-prefaging birds were heard. "The foreft fhook, and flinty rocks were cleft, "And frighted streams their wonted channels left; "With frantic grief o'erflowing fruitful ground, "Where many a herd and harmless fwain was " drown'd;

"While I forlorn and defolate was left, "Of every help, of every hope bereft; "To every element expos'd I lay, "And to my griefs a more defenceless prey. "For thee, Amyntas, all these pains were borne, "For thee thefe hands were wrung, thefe hairs

tr were torn;

"For thee my foul to figh fhall never leave, "Thefe eyes to weep, this throbbing heart te "heave,

1

To mourn thy fall, I'll fly the hated light, "And hide my head in fhades of endless night: "For thou wert light, and life, and health to me; "The fun but thanklefs fhines that shows not thee. "Wert thou not lovely, graceful, good, and young? "The joy of fight, the talk of every tongue? "Did ever branch fo fweet a bloffom bear? Or ever early fruit appear fo fair? "Did ever youth fo far his years tranfcend? "Did ever life fo immaturely end?

For thee the tuneful fa ains provided lays,
"And every mufe prepar'd thy future praife.
"For thee the bufy nymph stripp'd every grove,
"And myrtle wreaths and flowery chaplets wove.
But now, ah difmal change! the tuneful throng
"To loud lamentings turn the cheerful fong,
"Their pleafing task the weeping virgins leave,
"And with unfinish'd garlands ftrew thy grave.
"There let me fall, there, there lamenting lie,
"There grieving grow to carth, despair, and die."
This faid, her loud complaint of force fhe ceas'd,
Excels of grief her faultering fpeech fupprefs'd.
Along the ground her colder limbs fhe laid,
Where late the grave was for Amyntas made;
Then from her fwimming eyes began to pour
Of foftly falling rain a filver shower;
Her loosely-flowing hair, all radiant bright,
O'erfpread the dewy grafs like ftreams of light:
As if the fun had of his beams been fhorn,
And caft to earth the glories he had worn,
A fight fo lovely fad, fuch deep diftrefs,
No tongue can tell, no pencil can express.
And now the winds, which had fo long been
Began the swelling air with fighs to fill:
The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd,
Like images of ice, while fhe complain'd,
Now loos'd their ftreams; as when defcending rains
Roll the steep torrents headlong o'er the plains.
The prone creation, who so long had gaz'd,
Charm'd with her cries, and at her griefs amaz'd,
Began to roar and howl with horrid yell,
Dismal to hear, and terrible to tell;
Nothing but groans and fighs were heard around,
And Echo multiplied cach mournful found.

When all at once an univerfal paufe
Of grief was made, as from fome fecret caufe,
The balmy air with fragrant fccuts was fil'd,
As if cach weeping tree had gums diflill'd.
Such, if not fwecter, was the rich perfume
Which swift afcended from Amyntas' tomb :
As if th' Arabian bird her neft had fir'd,
And on the fpicy pile were now expir'd.

[Rill,

And now the turf, which late was naked feen, Was fudden spread with lively-fpringing green; And Amaryllis faw, with wondering eyes, A flowery bed, where she had wept, arife; Thick as the pearly drops the fair had thed, The blowing buds advanc'd their purple head; From every tear that fell a violet grew, And thence their sweetness came, and thence their mournful buc.

Remember this, ye nymphs and gentle maids, When folitude ye feek in gloomy fhades; Or walk on banks where filent waters flow, For there this lovely flower will love to grow.

Think on Amyntas oft as ye fhall ftoop
To crop the stalks, and take them foftly up.
When in your fnowy necks their sweets you wear,
Give a soft sigh, and drop a tender tear :
To lov'd Amyntas pay the tribute due, [grew.
And blefs his peaceful grave, where firft they

TO CYNTHIA,

WEEPING, AND NOT SPEAKING.
ELEGY.

Way are thofe hours, which heaven in pity lent
To longing love, in fruitless forrow spent ?
Why fighs my fair? why does that bofom move
With any paffion stirr'd, but rifing love?
Can difcontent find place within that breast,
On whofe foft pillows ev'n defpair might reft?
Divide thy woes, and give me my fad part ;
I am no ftranger to an aching heart;
Too well I know the force of inward grief,
And well can bear it to give you relief;
All love's fevereft pangs I can endure:

I can bear pain, though hopeless of a cure,

I know what 'tis to weep, and figh, and pray,
To wake all night, yet dread the breaking day;
I know what 'tis to wish, and hope, and all in vain,
And meet, for humble love, unkind difdain :
Anger and hate I have been forc'd to hear,
Nay, jealoufy-and I have felt despair.
These pains for you I have been forc'd to prove,
For cruel you, when I began to love,
Till warm compaffion took at length my part,
And melted to my with your yielding heart.
O the dear hour in which you did refign!
When round my neck your willing arms did

twine,

And, in a kifs, you faid your heart was mine. {
Through each returning year may that hour be
Diftinguifh'd in the rounds of all eternity;
Gay he the fun that hour in all his light,
Let him collect the day to be more bright,
Shine all that hour, and let the rest be night.
And fhall I all this heaven of blifs receive
From you, yet not lament to fee you grieve
Shall I, who nourish'd in my breast de fire,
When your cold fcorn and frowns forbid the fire;
Now when a mutual flame you have reveal'd,
And the dear union of our fouls is feal'd,
When all my joys complete in you I find,
Shall I not share the forrows of
your mind?
O tell me, tell me all-whence does arife [fighs?
This flood of tears? whence are thefe frequent
Why does that lovely head, like a fair flower
Opprefs'd with drops of a hard-falling fhower,
Bend with its weight of grief, and feem to grow
Downward to earth, and kifs the root of woc?
Lean on my breaft, and let me fold thee fast,
Lock'd in thefe arms, think all thy forrows paft ;
Or what remain think lighter made by me;
So I should think, were I so held by thee.
Murmur thy plaints, and gently wound my cars;
Sigh on my lip, and let me drink thy tears;

Join to my cheek thy cold and dewy face,
And let pale grief to glowing love give place.
O fpeak-for woe in filence most appears; .
Speak, ere my fancy magnify my fears.
Is there a caufe which words can not express?
Can I not bear a part, nor make it lefs?

I know not what to think-am I in fault?
I have not, to my knowledge, err'd in thought,
Nor wander'd from my love; nor would I be
Lord of the world, to live depriv'd of thee. ·
You weep afresh, and at that word you ftart!
Am I to be depriv'd then ?-muft we part?"
Curfe on that word fo ready to be spoke,
For through my lips, unmeant by me, it broke.
Oh no, we muft not, will not, cannot part,
And my tongue talks, unprompted by my heart.
Yet fpeak, for my distraction grows apace,
And racking fears and reflefs doubts increase
And fears and doubts to jealousy will turn,
The hottest hell, in which a heart can burn.

AMORET.

I.

FAIR Amoret is gone aftray;

Pursue and feek her, every lover; I'll tell the figns by which you may The wandering fhepherdefs difcover.

11.

Coquet and coy at once her air,

Both ftudy'd, though both feem neglected; Careless fhe is with artful care, Affecting to feem unaffected.

111.

With skill her eyes dart every glance,

Yet change fo foon you'd ne'er fulpect them For fhe'd perfuade they wound by chance, Though certain aim and art direct them.

IV.

She likes herself, yet others hates

For that which in herself the prizes; And, while fhe laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despiles..

LESBIA.

WHEN Lesbia first I faw fo heavenly fair,
With eyes fo bright, and with that awful air,
I thought my heart, which durft so high aspire,
As bold as his who fnatch'd celestial fire.
But foon as e'er the beauteous idiot fpoke,
Forth from her coral lips fuch folly broke,
Like balm the trickling nonfenfe heal'd my wound.
And what her eyes enthrall'd her tongue unbound.

DORIS.

DORIS, a nymph of riper age, Has every grace and aut

And ftare upon the strange man's face, As one the ne'er had known.

So well the can the truth disguise,
Such artful wonder frame,
The lover or diftrufts his eyes,

Or thinks 'twas all a dream.

Some cenfure this as lewd and low,
Who are to bounty blind;
For to forget,what we bestow
Bespeaks a noble mind.

Doris our thanks nor asks, nor needs:
For all her favours done

From her love flow, as light proceeds Spontaneous from the fun.

On one or other still her fires Display their genial force; And fhe, like Sol, alone retires, To fhine elsewhere of courfe.

And all for thee-what had I well-nigh faid?
Let me not name thee, thou too charming maid!
No, as the wing'd musicians of the grove,
Th' affociates of my melody and love,
In moving found alone relate their pain,
And not with voice articulate complain;
So fhall my mufe my tuneful forrows fing,
And lofe in air her name from whom they spring
O may no wakeful thoughts her mind moleft.
Soft be her flumbers, and fincere her reft:
For her, O Sleep thy balmy fweets prepare;
The peace I lofe for her, to her transfer.
Hufh'd as the falling dews, whofe noiseless showers
Impearl the folded leaves of evening flowers,
Steal on her brow: and as thofe dews attend,
Till warn'd by waking day to re-ascend,
So wait thou for her morn; then gently rife,
And to the world restore the day-break of her eyes,

TO SLEEP.

ELEGY.

O SLEEP! thou flatterer of happy mir.ds, How foon a troubled breaft thy falfehood finds! Thou commen friend, efficious in thy aid, Where no diftrefs is fhown, nor want be ray'd: But oh how fwift, how fure thou art to fhun The wretch by fortune or by love undone! Where are thy gentle dews, thy fofter powers, Which us'd to wait upon my midnight hours? Why doft thou ceafe thy hovering wings to spread, With friendly fhade, around my reftlefs bed? Can no complainings thy compaffion move? Is thy antipathy so strong to love? Go! thou art the profperous lover's friend, And dost uncall'd his pleasing toils attend. With equal kindness, and with rival charms, Thy flumbers lull him in his fair-one's arms; [fpires, Or from her bofom he to thine retires, Where, footh'd with eafe, the panting youth reTill foft repose restore his drooping sense, And rapture is reliev'd by indolence. But oh! what torture does the lover bear, Forlorn by thee, and haunted by despair! From racking thoughts by no kind flumber freed, But painful nights his joyless days fucceed. But why, dull god, do I of thee complain? Thou didst not caufe, nor canft thou cafe my pain. Forgive what my distracting grief has said; I own, unjustly I thy floth upbraid. For oft I have thy proffer'd aid repell'd, And my reluctant eyes from reft withheld; Implor'd the mufe to break thy gentle chains, And fung with Philomel my nightly ftrains. With her I fing, but cease not with her fong, For more enduring woes my days prolong. The morning lark to mine accords his note, And tunes to my distress his warbling throat : Each fetting and each riling fun I mourn, Wailing alike his absence and return.

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

OCCASIONED BY

Ir'S PICTURE.

I YIELD, O Kneller! to fuperior fkill,
Thy pencil triumphs o'er the poet's quill :
If yet my vanquish'd mufe exert her lays,
It is no more to rival thee, but praife.

Olt have I try'd, with unavailing care,
To trace fome image of the much lov'd fair;
But fill my numbers ineffectual prov'd,
And rather show'd how much, than whom, I lov'd:
But thy unerring hands, with matchless art,
Have shown my eyes th' impreffion in my heart;
The bright idea both exists and lives,
Such vital heat thy genial pencil gives :
Whofe daring point, not to the face confin'd,
Can penetrate the heart, and paint the mind.
Others fome faint refemblance may exprefs,
Which, as 'tis drawn by chance, we find by guess.
Thy pictures raife no doubts; when brought to
view,

At once they're known, and feem to know us toc.
Tranfcendent artist how complete thy skill?
Thy power to act is equal to thy will.
Nature and art in thee alike contend,
Not to oppose each other, but befriend;
For what thy fancy has with fire design'd,
Is by thy skill both temper'd and refin'd.
As in thy pictures light confents with fhade,
And each to other is fubfervient made ;
Judgment and genius fo concur in thee,
And both unite in perfect harmony.

But after-days, my friend, must do thee right,
And fet thy virtues in unenvy'd light.
Fame due to vaft defert is kept in ftore,
Unpaid, till the deserver is no more.
Yet thou, in prefent, the best part haft gain'd,
And from the chofen few applause obtain'd:
Ev'n he who beft could judge, and best could praise
Has high extoll'd thee in his deathlefs lays;
Ev'n Dryden has immortaliz'd thy name;
Let that alone fuffice thee, think that fame,